


“Are you ever gonna take those things off?”

by SoHoldMeTight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anna is awesome, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Castiel (Supernatural), Bees, Cas is on the spectrum, Cas likes to draw, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Has Panic Attacks, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Cute, Castiel has autism, Castiel is a Good Friend, Castiel is a Softie, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Castiel's Nickname is Cas, Chuck Novak is Castiel’s dad, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dean’s so good, Garth is a sweetheart, High School/College, Human Castiel, Human Dean Winchester, Ice Skater Castiel (Supernatural), Ice Skating, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mary is still dead, Mean Naomi (Supernatural), Might add more chapters tbh, Music, Naive Castiel, Overstimulation, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam and Dean deserve better, Sam is a Sweetheart, Shipper Sam, Shipper!Sam, Stimming, asd, charactwrs may be added as time goes on, meltdowns, naivete, skater!castiel, sory guys, stimuli
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 21:20:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12690432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoHoldMeTight/pseuds/SoHoldMeTight
Summary: Of course, Dean doesn’t really mind that Cas likes Dean’s present. He doesn’t mind that Cas says the headphones keep him warm, doesn’t mind that Cas says the muffled sound from taking the headphones on and off cancels out ‘all the other noise’ and helps him relax. Dean doesn’t always know how to help Cas. He’s glad he could make life a little easier for Cas but Dean’s definitely not gonna go there.Even though Dean doesn’t mind that Cas loves those headphones. He doesn’t mind even a little, not even at all.





	1. The Headphones

**Author's Note:**

> I understand that everyone can have a different experience with aspgerers or autism. Please do not take the following writing as a blanket experience it is simply something which came from my own thoughts and experiences. Enjoy!

He’s wearing those ridiculous headphones when Dean walks into his room. Dean announces his presence with a quick knock of his knuckles against the worn bedroom door. Dean does the same knock every time, Smoke on the Water. Cas doesn’t like change and Dean likes Deep Purple so it was an easy decision to come to when they first met.

Dean rolls his eyes at the continued silence. Cas, the ever calm _angel_ , slowly raises his head at the interruption before removing his obnoxious headphones Dean bought him for Christmas.

Of course, Dean doesn’t really mind that Cas likes the Dean’s present. He doesn’t mind that Cas says the headphones keep him warm, doesn’t mind that Cas says the muffled sound from taking the headphones on and off cancels out ‘all the other noise’ and helps him relax. Dean doesn’t always know how to help Cas. He’s glad he could make life a little easier for his friend but Dean’s definitely not gonna go there.

Even though Dean doesn’t mind that Cas loves those headphones. He doesn’t mind even a little, not even at all.

He can see Cas lifting the headphones on and off his ears now, as Dean stands in the door way smiling at his friend. Cas had been drawing before he came in. The faded green sketchbook Dean gave him for his birthday lay beneath his sweater covered wrist. The sweater was dark blue like Cas’ eyes and frayed around the edges from all of the times Cas rubbed the sleeves against his face.

For whatever reason (Dean couldn’t read minds) Cas loved those kinds of things, feeling clothes and such. Naomi (a bitch, in Dean’s personal opinion) usually snapped at Cas for doing anything out of the ordinary. Which, frankly, was pretty damn inconvenient since everything Cas did was out of the ordinary. Not in a bad way of course, hell, Dean did all kinds of weird stuff.

Cas just went about things in really creative ways. He thought about things in ways that had never occurred to Dean.

When Cas was little, before he and Dean met, he said he never talked.

_“Like at all?”_

_“Yes. That’s what never entails.”_

_Dean rolled his eyes, flopping on his bed. “Just checking.”_

_Castiel stared at him, face blank. He sat that way for a few moments before Dean got the picture. He raised his hands in defense, getting off the bed to smooth out the wrinkles he’d made before sitting back down gently._

_Castiel nodded his thanks._

_“It was nine, right?”_

_He frowned, “Nine what?”_

_“You were nine when you started talking, or was it ten years old?”_

_“You have a good memory. Nine.”_

_“Cool.”_

_“I’m not sure how the temperature relates to the subject. Also, I meant nine years old as well, Dean. I realize the ‘nine’ could be mistaken for no.”_

_Dean laughed, “I didn’t think you were speaking German, Cas.”_

_“Good. Because I was not speaking German.”_

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets as he presses the headphones against his ears a final time before resting them around his neck.

Dean smiled, “Hi Cas.”


	2. The Debate

“Dilaudid,” Castiel whispered to himself, trying to understand the word.

Dil-au-did. A word of three syllables, only one being two letters each. Castiel enjoyed the way the word made his tongue touch the roof of his mouth. He said the word once, paying attention to the movement of his mouth.

He put two fingers to his lip, saying the word again- dilaudid.

Castiel’s mother said the word often. She said it loudly in a way Castiel did not like. Sometimes Naomi Novak said the word quietly, but his siblings said she was still mad about patients. Castiel didn’t understand how he was supposed to tell how his mother felt if she constantly changed the volume of her voice.

Volume was the biggest clue for someone being upset. Castiel had heard loud, sharp, red hot voices enough times to know what they meant. 

But really, truly understanding how others felt was confusing, sometimes it made his head hurt. People were too loud. They chewed and spit and talked and cried and laughed too much. Castiel liked to cover his ears when this happened but his mother insisted people would stare.

His mother was unhappy when people stared at anything. She yelled at his brothers when they stared at the TV too long or when people stared at Castiel. Castiel didn’t like when people stared at him. The only reason a person would look at something would be to find something. Castiel didn’t know what people were looking for in him, he didn’t like lingering stares or muffled voices being thrown across the room like a baseball in a stadium.

Gabriel Novak said a girl in his class was hit with a baseball once. She was just running around with friends when _smack_ a baseball dug into her face and blood went all over due to her thrashing and screaming. Gabriel Novak said the ball was gray and big and peeled off her face, all sticky and red. He said she had looked like a raccoon with big, black circles around both of her eyes.

Castiel avoided loud voices being thrown around crowded areas, lest he turn into a raccoon as well. Castiel frowned as he continued the raccoon he was currently drawing. He didn’t think he was very good at being a human. His siblings didn’t cry at loud noises or ruin their clothes with chewing the way Castiel did. But if this was the best Castiel could after 17 years of trying to be a human?

Well, if this was the best Castiel could do after 17 years, he would hate to start all over as a raccoon. Castiel didn’t like starting over on things. Everything in the world, even Castiel, had to have a clear beginning, middle, and end. When Castiel had to start over on something it destroyed its value.

A sharp knock on Castiel’s door pulled him from his fear. Anna Novak stood in his doorway, soft smile brightening her mind face. Her hand moved from her jacket’s right pocket and she shook a ring of shiny sounds, her keys.

His sister raised her eyebrows, “Ready to go to the store with me, Castiel?”

Castiel shook his head, avoiding her gaze as he sharpened the nose of his raccoon. He frowned, tilting his head to bring himself closer to his sketchbook. He would like to draw a raccoon with colored eyes but that would destroy the black and white theme of his drawing.

Castiel got a lot of things wrong but he had trouble understanding why. His eyes flickered to the colored pencils resting besides the black spiral rings of his sketchbook. The green pencil seemed particularly interesting, but, if nothing else, Castiel knew raccoons did not have green eyes.

He heard his sister sigh.

“Come on Castiel, it’s Thursday. Remember what that means? On Thursdays we go to the store together.”

Castiel nodded, he remembered. He just didn’t like the store.

“Cas... I know but it’s just a quick run,” she bargained. “We just have to pick up a few prescriptions today. It’ll only take a second I swear. We’ll barely be there.”

He did not look up. “Why go? Why- why would we go? Why go if we’re- wh- why go if we’re barely there? Why would we go?”

“Sorry I mean- we won’t be at the grocery store for a long time.” She placed one foot in Castiel’s room before pausing. “May I come in?”

“You have- you have to- you have to knock-knock.” He explained for the hundredth time, eyes glued to his drawing. “You have to-to knock.”

Why did no one understand this simple rule?

Castiel sighed, rubbing a hand over his ear before resting the hand on his headphones. He tapped the headphones with one hand as he worked through what he had been trying to say. Castiel’s mind was much better at explaining than his voice. His mind had a longer explanation but his voice jumbled all of his words into phrases and fun sounds.  
  
“It is customary... to knock- knock-knock on a person’s door. You have to knock on my door. You have to knock on my door and I give you permission to enter my room.”

She nodded, “Of course, sorry.”

Her pale hand quickly tapped Castiel’s door before he invited her into his room. Anna smiled and approached the teenager’s bed. She eyed Castiel’s desk before cautiously rolling the grey chair towards her.

“Do you care if I sit here?”

“Do I care if you sit there?”

He shrugged, “There isn’t accust- a customary way to ask permission to sit in my chair with your hand. But no, I do not mind.”

She smiled, “Thanks Cas.”

He nodded, “Cool.”

She smiled, watching her brother calmly move his graphite pencil across his beloved sketchbook. Castiel’s room was small but it was perfect for him. A single, rectangular window lay behind Castiel’s back, flooding light over his white bedspread.

When Castiel was younger his room was a combination of hand me downs and cheap furniture. The crowded, chaotic room was a mix of browns, dark blues, mustard yellows, fading reds, blacks, and fungus greens. The youngest Novak, Hael, shared a room with Anna. Before the Novak’s knew what autism was they had placated to whatever Castiel wanted, or what they thought Castiel wanted.

Castiel hadn’t _wanted_ things so much as he had needed them. Anna regretted the days when Castiel had been seen as a nuisance. When Castiel was younger he’d insisted on sleeping beside their mother. The family was uncertain what to do.

This problem was not a simple question Castiel could answer with gestures.

The only sounds Castiel had made in those days were cries as he hit hands over his ears before shouting incoherently. Eventually Castiel would cry himself to sleep without finding a solution, only to face the same problem the next day. Anna felt horrible when she failed Castiel. What kind of sister was she if she couldn’t help her brother?

The shared bedroom between Castiel and their parents had not helped him, not as they had hoped.

Castiel hadn’t been able to sleep through their father’s snores as he laid next to his mother in her bed. Their father had complained that Castiel moved around too much in bed, that the boy kept him up and ‘their bed wasn’t big enough for three people.’

Sleeping was just another thing that had come between Castiel and their father.

“I know you don’t like the grocery store Cas but this is really important,” Anna said with a hopeful smile. “I can’t leave you here alone and this is part of the schedule, right? This is what we always do,and afterwards we can go get shakes just like we always do.”

Castiel frowned, meeting her eyes for the first time. “I haven’t forgotten our routine. I don’t like the grocery store being in our routine.”

Anna sighed, knowing this would go the same way it always did. “I know, Cas. It’s just-“

“I don’t like that place. You know I don’t like that place. If you know I don’t like there- if you- if you know, why would you make me go?”

He frowned, “Family looks out for one another. Dean says family looks out for one another.”

Anna chuckled, “I don’t want you to suffer by going through the grocery store. The reason I’m taking you with me to the grocery store is because we need to get medicine to help other people in the house. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to help us in the long run.”

“We have to go to- to pick up birth control so you can have sex with Dan Harper?”

Her eyes widened, red hair whipping back and forth as she prayed no one was home early. “Castiel!”

“What? You forgot my last name.”

“You can’t just- no it’s not for that, okay?”

“Did you stop kissing Dan Harper?”

She covered her face, making it even more difficult for Castiel to understand her reaction. Everyone always said to use his eyes to understand people. Apparently long, uncomfortable amounts of eye contact made it easier to understand emotion. Castiel had been told on a number of occasions that he stared too long.

Even when he listened to others’ advice he couldn’t fit in.

She pinched her nose with her thumb and forefinger, her other hand covering a loud sound within her mouth. “Oh my god I- no, okay? I didn’t stop having sex with Dan Harper but-“ she laughed. “Christ that’s not why we’re going to the _store_. How do you even _know_ about that?”

“You take pills at the same time everyday. I walked in,” Castiel explained calmly while erasing an extra line in his sketch.

“Gabriel said that making out is- is a warm up? Its a warm up? It would explain why a first kiss is so important. I would not want to have sex with whoever I first kissed.”

She nodded slowly, staring at her little brother. “Uh... okay, that’s a lot to explain in one conversation. I promise I’ll answer all of those questions on our way to the grocery store, okay? And we can stop at the craft store on our way home.”

Castiel frowned, “I am not a child. Children go to craft stores. I prefer Michaels.”

She nodded, smiling as she stood from the seat at Castiel’ desk. “Right, because Michael’s craft store is very mature.”

Castiel frowned, “Are you mocking me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Why would you dream of mocking me?” He frowned, lower lip puffing out, “I still don’t want to go.”


	3. The Grocery Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter depicts a meltdown. If strong sensory descriptions make you uncomfortable this chapter can serve as a stand alone and will be briefly explained in the future.

The store was horrible, just as Castiel had said.

There were stacked shelves of contained fruits, vegetables, sparkly drinks- they were all shining brightly under the store’s harsh lights. His breath had tightened from the moment he and Anna entered the store.

An old lady had waved at him, welcoming them to the noisy, crowded building. The store’s bright lights reflected off of her glasses, bringing out her saggy skin and irritating Castiel’s eyes. He looked away from the woman, his cold hand tightening around Anna’s.

“It’s alright,” she whispered.

She soothed him as if she were speaking to a child, as if Castiel was an infant. Castiel sighed, frustrated with her as he dropped her hand in exchange for his own. Anna’s hazel eyes looked to her brother’s pale hands, looking for further signs of nerves. She felt horrible for bringing Castiel to somewhere so busy but their mother insisted he go out for “social events.” She would know if Castiel did not go to the store today.

“We only need to pick up a few things.”

The store’s entrance was crowded by a big display of cookies and candies. The shoes of little girls and boys squeaked over dirty tile as their sticky hands crinkled colorful wrappers in their fists. Castiel breathed in and out, slowly counting down from 10. He loosely took Anna’s hand in his.

He felt a strange sense of tranquility upon approaching another section of the store. The long green rows were moving closer and closer towards him. Castiel breathes in deeply, attempting to ignore the strange smells for soft fragrances. Cas wanted to buy an orange; he liked the warmth it gave his hand.

His sister walked towards the fruit, Castiel’s hand hanging loosely from her wrist. His blue eyes focused on a small piece of fruit lying on a green table. He smiled while raising his arm up and down, fingers curled softly over the orange as if he was setting the sun.

The sun gave animals and people and plants life. He smiled at faded orange between his fingers. His other hand patted the fruit, he was holding the color of the sun. He brought the fruit closer towards his face, brow furrowing at the life which gave him life.

Castiel flinched at the sudden sound of a toddler crying, nearly dropping the orange. 

The screaming little boy wore a red shirt and overalls, the denim of his pants knocking the metallic shopping cart. His face was beet red as his small legs kicked against his tired mother’s arms. She wore a thinning blue coat and pushed a big cart of smells and colors. She bit her lip, looking around the store as she hurried down the baking aisle.

“Castiel,” Anna Novak called softly.

Anna’s muffled voice was there, somewhere, in his mind. Castiel placed the orange on the green rack, wincing when his finger accidentally pushed into the fruit, coating his hand with a strange, sugary smell. He shook his wrist irritatedly, staring at his now orange and white hand.

He touched the edge of his headphones, a lifesaver in this horrible sea of waste and sugar and heat.

A little girl laughed as she begged her father to ride the coin operated horse again. He laughed- his voice echoed off the walls- before agreeing, metal clinking against metal when he dropped the penny into a metallic box.

He didn’t like it here. His shaking fingers suddenly remembered what he’d intended to do as he pulled his headphones over his ears. The headphones pressed against his face, the remaining juice of the orange running down his cheek.

Castiel didn’t like the cries but he could no longer use his tainted headphones.

He laid on the ground. Castiel curled inwards, pulling his arms around his legs as his chin tucked into his chest. _Someone_ kept _crying_ \- Castiel wanted them to stop but the meaningless noises falling from his lips stole his speech. He pressed his hands against his ears once more, blocking out the cries. Not only was his face hot and moving uncontrollably, it was wet.

Ashley almost fell off the toy horse, started by the sudden cries. The crying person sounded like her old dog when the car didn’t stop, she didn’t like it.

“What’s wrong with him? What’s _happening_ to him?”

“I don’t know baby,” he whispered, torn between abandoning his cart with his daughter held tight in his arms, and approaching the boy.

The red head was flitting around the kid like a red eyed fly. An old woman hurried past them, her face bent into something spiteful as she whispered to her husband.

“This is why I never want to come here on Thursdays,” she hissed as the automatic doors closed behind the couple.

Some shoppers ignored him, shaking their head as they turned to another aisle. A woman placed a gentle hand over her round stomach, concern etched across her dark face. The red haired girl looked around before attempting to speak to the kid once more.

*

Anna spoke calmly to him, repeating his name each time she spoke. Castiel’s hands were over his ears until the sound of his sister became the only sound he heard. He sighed, eyes closed to the light and color around him.

“Castiel,” she said softly.

“...you forgot my last name.”

She laughed in relief, “Castiel Novak?”

“Yes. We should finish grocery shopping.”

Anna Novak frowned, “Are you sure you feel comfortable doing that?”

He stood with her, dusting off his coat. “It is part of my routine.”

A smile spilled across her face. “Did you just make a joke?”

He frowned, “Why would I joke about that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was created from a combination of personal experience and research. My younger sister is on the spectrum; I have been present, and helped her through, a number of tears but I understand everyone has had different experiences.


	4. The bubble

The trip to the grocery store trip had been a disaster, just as Castiel had predicted.

Anna Novak and Naomi Novak spoke in hushed tones down the hall. Castiel didn’t understand their lowered volumes- it seemed a wasted effort when he could hear their every word. He sat in silence as their voices continued from the kitchen.

“I keep telling you he shouldn’t go with me,” she whispered.

“The therapist says he has a routine,” Naomi reasoned. “He’ll get used to it.”

“But Castiel’s routine can’t just be _changed_ , mom. Going to the store throws his days off. The entire point of a routine is that it doesn’t change.”

Castiel lay on his bed, legs dangling off of his white bedspread. He was too exhausted to do anything of value. He said nothing as the muffled voices continued. His hands itched to move, to scratch, to tie his shoelaces, to draw- to do _something_ but the rest of him was weighed down by the day’s events.

“What is he going do when he’s an adult, Anna? He can’t be a kid forever,” his mother huffed. “One day he’ll have to grow up.”

“Can’t you see he’s _trying_?”

He ran his hand over the soft bedspread, fingers tracing the threads of his comforter. His blue eyes focused on the ceiling, searching for an answer in the bones of the house. This house only opened to confusion, stirring everyone within into a mess of terror and teeth. It spit out every rattled Novak, allowing hem to stumble through town before it pulled them back into the home.

But the house had spit Charles Novak out and he had never returned.

It seemed the house was looking for something, for someone. 463 Bentley Drive had a certain code for who could live there and what they could do when inside. Obviously Charles Novak had not qualified, or the house had been mistaken when it first allowed him inside. Maybe the house had a problem understanding people, too.

The voices continued from the kitchen, rising and lowering like water over sand or a messy figure eight. He wanted to tell his family to be quiet but the thought of social interaction was exhausting. Instead, he slipped his freshly cleaned headphones over his ears. He felt his body loosen, relaxing as the material pressed against his skin. He removed the headphones again and again, admiring the change in volume and the press of padding against his body.

Castiel stood up from his bed, walking to the room’s center and turning in circles.

Castiel knew that a living body held certain codes, certain genetics which made a person or an animal look and act a certain way. If the body could be labeled, why couldn’t his bedroom be the same?

Surely something in this house desired feeling. Somewhere in the infrastructure lay a tangle of receptors asking for anger and fear. Castiel ignored the muffled voices down the hall, pressing against the headphones as he approached his rosewood desk.

His hands rested gently on the beautiful, dark wood; he breathed in deeply. Some smells were strong and sickly, but the smell of clean wood made Castiel feel light and warm. He smiled as he pulled out paper, tape, and pencils.

After determining the appropriate material Castiel stood from his desk. He stepped over a large pile of white, fluffy pillows as he examined the bedroom’s infrastructure.

Castiel’s fingers glided around his walls like diving fireworks, or skates on an ice rink. He stared at his long, pink appendages as they slid over the smooth paint job, stopping when his pinky hit a small bubble. Castiel ran his finger over the bubble once more, frowning.

He titled his head, staring at the break in the pale paint’s simplicity- there.

Castiel plucked a scrap of paper from the desk, his now steady hand curving and looping until the lines and scratches formed an unspoken label. Before Castiel spoke, his mother had insisted he carry a white board everywhere he went. Naomi Novak had bought a clean, professional black erase marker for Castiel to use.

Castiel had frowned at the offered utensil.

 _“Now, I don’t want you to waste time drawing with this, Castiel,” his mother explained_.

She had wagged the marker in front of his face, similar to the way Gabriel Novak held a bone in out to the neighbor’s dog. Castiel remembered frowning, turning away from the boring marker.

 _“The teachers will already rely on your_ board _for answers, they don’t need you writing in a color they can hardly read.”_

Castiel paused, pulling himself from the memory as he stared at the tape in his hand. A label would require tape over the room’s soft paint, the adhesive would interrupt the bareness of his walls. He stared down at the blank scrap of paper before shaking off his fears.

Labels had been helpful in the past.


	5. Sarah Woodward

“And remember,” she droned on, her flat voice boring students to sleep. “Remember that this report is 10% of your final grade.”

Sarah Woodward emitted a soft sigh, eyeing the clock as Mrs. Malactin continued to speak. A single, lazy finger twirled a lock of Sarah’s curls around the sharp nail of her index finger. She sighed again, her wide chest rising and lowering as she stared at her perfect hair.

One row to the left, Dean sighed as well, his calloused hand supporting his chin.

Dean was a fan of gorgeous people, he liked to keep as many around him as possible. And Sarah Woodland, with her thick, curly dark hair, and her plump, pink mouth and those big blue eyes? Sarah was more than gorgeous; Dean wouldn’t mind keeping Sarah around him.

Sarah was only in a few of Dean’s classes, and he couldn’t tell if she distracted him or helped him focus. Sarah was the only reason Dean was awake, at 9AM, in his _government_ class. Sammy would be all over this stuff- laws and policies and rights- he’d be geeking out.

Dean, however, didn’t care to rehash the red tape and routines of a promising government which, frankly, took half as many steps forwards as it did backwards. Which was probably why he’d been half awake the entire class, eyelids shutting to the gorgeous girl in front of him. Sarah Woodward was here and now, and if Dean made any promises to her? Well, he intended to keep those promises.

So long as Sarah didn’t want to be... serious it wasn’t like Dean was looking for a long time girlfriend or anything. But damn, what Dean would give to be the lock of hair around that girl’s finger. He could imagine it now. He could _see it;_ Dean coiling around her, his hands running _all over_ , his fingers tracing her plump, soft-

“Dean Winchester!”

He jumped in his seat, arm smacking the edge of his desk. “Wha-“

Mrs. Malactin raised her fading eyebrows, her arms crossed over her old sweater. The wrinkled flowers seemed to be rising from her shirt, scolding him for god knows what. He looked around, surprised by the lack of students laughing at him.

“Class is over, Mr. Winchester,” she sighed.

She seemed as bored in the class as Dean. He shifted in his seat, attempting to wake himsel- oh. _Shit_ , Dean needed to get out of here. How long had he been out?

“Unless you’d like to spend your lunch with me, discussing your upcoming research paper on a Supreme Court decision?”

His eyes returned to her tired, worm face. Was she making a threat, or a joke? Deciding not to take his chances, Dean quickly excused himself and headed towards the lunchroom. He cursed Sarah Woodland and her gorgeous blue eyes- wasn’t she supposed to keep him awake?

With how much Dean had been thinking of her- how much he’d been _imagining_ her- he was sure he’d stay wide awake. Not that he’d stopped imaging her in his sleep. Dean held back back a groan, the stickiness between his legs an uncomfortable reminder of just how much he’d been imagining her.

A happy voice pulled Dean out of his misery. Victor waved from down the hallway. His brown boots pressed against the school’s ugly paint, his back resting between the cafeteria door and the wall. 

“Hey Dean, I think Cas is waiting for you. Said he couldn’t find you where...” Victor frowned, “‘where you were supposed to be’ or something?”

Victor shrugged, oblivious to Dean’s widening eyes. “I don’t know what the guy’s going on about, though.”

A rush of panic and a wave of annoyance fought for control of Dean’s mind. He closed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere but here. God if there was _anyone_ Dean didn’t want to know he’d had a wet dream over a girl, it was Cas.

But annoyance pushed such thoughts to the side.

“I mean, seems pretty self explanatory,” Dean said with a frown. “Obviously I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. It’s pretty obvious, Gordon.”

Victor frowned as Dean walked away, telling himself the bathroom was only down the hall. If he could just get down the hall. Dean sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked stiffly toward the bathroom.

Man, he hated when people judged every little thing Cas said.

Like, was it really necessary for people to say ‘I don’t know what Cas means’, ‘Castiel never makes sense’, or ‘I don’t get him’- what was the point in that? Dean didn’t like the looks some kids gave him when Cas spoke, as if Dean was some kind of translator. Why didn’t people ask Cas to be more specific, instead of heckling the guy behind his back?

Dean didn’t really think Victor meant any harm of course, he just didn’t know how to talk Cas. Dean sighed as he opened the bathroom door, no one was in here. The sink and paper towels did a pretty piss poor job and it was gross and he was gross and god did Dean love The Doors but he wasn’t trying to be Jim Morrison.

God did Dean need to get himself under control. It wouldn’t be such a problem if he didn’t harden at the most inconvenient times! Like why did Cas always to be around every time Dean got an erection?

Sweet, helpful Cas with his big blue eyes and his nervous smile- _that_ Cas was way too innocent for Dean to feel comfortable having an erection around him. Not that Dean was comfortable having an erection around any of his male friends!

God why did Dean have to be such a nervous wreck? 

 


	6. Garth Fitzgerald IV

When Sam got his first pimple Dean made fun of him for a week and, damn, was it funny.

Messing with Sam was always fun. The kid was a natural uptight nerd, but that week had been hilarious. Sam’s horrified, oily mug reflected in their bedroom’s cracked mirror, making the place even uglier than usual.

He ran back and forth to the mirror like a wind up toy, as if one red bump was the end of his life. Who would memorize the meteor patterns of the 1980s when Sam was gone? Who could Sam trust to stay home every weekend and clean his magic kit?

“ _It isn’t funny, Dean,” Sam huffed for the hundredth_ _time, arms crossed over his puny body._

_“Oh calm down, Rudolph,” Dean laughed. “Even with a face that red, I’m sure someone will talk to you at school tomorrow.”_

_Sam flopped onto his bed, brown hair flowing over his red covers. “It’s our first day back from summer, Dean. My first day of high school and I look a like a total freak.”_

_Dean chuckled, rolling his eyes as he put his Classic Cars magazine on their shared nightstand._

“ _Listen valley girl, you said so yourself it’s your first day of high school, meaning every kid’s gonna be way more focused on themselves than you. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said with an easy smile._

_Sam frowned, his mouth twisting as he looked at his older brother. Dean’s stupid eyes and strong jaw probably made high school a breeze. Not to mention that Dean could make anyone laugh, especially girls. Sam wasn’t so much a joker as he was the butt of Dean’s jokes._

_“And as long as they’re all wearing sunglasses, I’m sure no one will even notice the giant crater on your nose.”_

_Sam rolled his eyes, tossing the kit’s hat at Dean’s face. “Jerk.”_

_“Bitch.”_

_Dean paused to look down at the  magician’s hat, tracing its edges as he spoke. “Careful now, Mr. Popular, your magician’s_ Fun For All Ages _top hat nearly knocked me out.”_

_“Whatever.”_

Karma really was a bitch.

As much as Dean had enjoyed teasing Sam about the beauty of puberty, Dean wouldn’t be able to laugh off a public boner. Sure, he was graduating in a few weeks and no one would ever know what had happ- unless someone already knew.

He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as students filed into the classroom.

Dean usually made a point to be late to class. But there was no way he was staying in the bathroom after that awkward cleanup, and he didn’t want to explain this to Cas in the hallway. Instead, he sat in a squeaky, plastic orange chair in economics which dug into his back. The sound of Mrs. Pilgrim dragging chalk over the board pulled Dean out of his thoughts.

In white, blocky letters the board read:

_Dean Winchester had an erection in clas._

Oh god. His heart jumped into his throat as the chalk letters faded in and out before his vision. Garth Fitzgerald tapped his shoulder, a kind look in his eyes.

Dean nearly jumped out of his chair, eyes wide as he coughed out, “What?”

Garth frowned, his gaze flickering up and down before he opened his mouth. “Did you-“

“I didn’t write that,” Dean said with a shake of his head, eyes glued to the ugly words in front of them.

“Um...” the string bean of a guy scratched his head. “Yeah I- I figured not, seeing as how Mrs. Pilgrim wrote that.”

“Well what does she know,” he hissed, pulling into himself. “Huh, tell me that, Garth.”

Garth raised his eyebrows at him, offering him another confused glance. Dean twisted his arms over his chest, foot tapping the floor as he stared at the small guy. He felt his face begin to turn red as more students walked into the classroom.

Dean thought of all the times he’d made fun of Sam’s oily, red nose, and in that moment he knew there was a hell- and he was in it.

“Earth to Dean?” Garth waved a hand in his face, pointing to the board. “Dude, she’s writing everyone’s name on the board. I was gonna ask you if you knew why.”

He ignored the question, turning to face the chalkboard as Mrs. Pilgrim’s arm scurried across it with small white lines.

 _Dean Winchester  Victor Henrickson_  
Cassie Robinson   Benjamin Agglen  
Tracy Hartland     Kevin Tran  
Mark Sheppard    Castiel Novak  
Lisa Braeden  
Gordon Walker  
Jo Harvelle  
Raphael Agglen

“Oh. Uh... no idea, man,” he shrugged sheepishly.

Garth frowned, “Are you sure you’re okay, Dean? You seem a bit wacky this morning.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “Did you just say I seemed wac-“

“You were not at lunch this morning,” Castiel stated as he placed his books on his desk, sitting with a frown.

Garth raised his eyebrows, staring at the tall boy as he spoke. Castiel continued to shuffle through his bag, pulling out pads of paper and books as he spoke. Castiel Novak wasn’t a bad guy, he was just... different. Something Garth had never been able to put a finger on. Maybe it was his intense eye contact (if he acknowledged you) or maybe his height?

Something about Castiel was intimidating; Garth usually stammered in his presence, feeling awkward no matter how oblivious Castiel was to his embarrassment. It wasn’t that Castiel was mean, he hated bullying and had actually defended Garth a number of times. From what Garth knew Castiel was especially friendly with Dean, until now apparently.

“Why?”

Dean waved, smiling sheepishly, “Hello to you too, Cas.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “We exchanged greetings this morning. My statement remains.”

“Well,” Dean smiled, turning to face his friend. “Most people open with ‘hi’ or ‘hello.’”

“Then I must not qualify as ‘most people’,” Castiel said, raising his fingers in air quotes.

Dean held back a smile.

Cas had the cutest quirks. Listening to Cas order from the menu was probably one of Dean’s favorite things to hear. Cas was a bit of a picky eater, but the way he described certain food made that easy to understand.

“ _This tastes like human skin,” Castiel said with a frown, staring at his breakfast uneasily._

_Dean raised his eyebrows at the description, lip quirking to the side. He shrugged while offering his friend a napkin. Cas accepted it with a nod, spitting out the eggs._

“ _Thank you.”_

_“You need more protein,” Mrs. Novak said with a frown, pointing a spatula at him. “You’re too skinny, Castiel.”_

_He frowned, “How will eggs make me fat?”_

_Gabriel laughed between forkfuls of sweet, sticky pancakes. “They won’t make you fat, dummy. She means you’re too wimpy.”_

_“You’re going to look like a girl,” Mrs. Novak frowned._

_The house’s steps creaked under another Novak’s boots. Naomi frowned, silently  questioning her daughter skipping a family meal. Anna ignored the glare as she helped herself to a plate of food._

_She rolled her eyes, “Because that would be so horrible.”_

_“Anna,” her mother said with a tight smile, “we don’t need your input on every discussion in this household.”_

_“Clearly, seeing as how you ignore me half the time.”_

_Dean and Gabriel stared at one another, silent as the arguing continued. Castiel frowned at his plate, pushing the eggs over Scooby Doo’s cracked face. They needed to get new plates._

_“Are we entirely certain this plate is usable? If the paint is capable of chipping it could have mixed in with my food.”_

Dean especially loved introducing Castiel to new people, even if he never remembered their names. Dean Winchester was a big name around here, and with it, there was a big list of names to know. Cas insisted Dean knew everyone, but he was just friendly.

Being on the football team meant knowing all the guys on it, freshman or senior. Outside of the sports teams faces tended to blur. But Dean made a point to know everyone in the school. Okay, so he didn’t know every of the names in the school, but he tried his best. After all, who could remember 2,000 names?

Maybe Dean didn’t know everyone in the school, but he made sure to introduce Cas to all of his friends. After all Cas livened up every conversation. Although, Dean’s favorite Castiel conversations were between Cas and himself.

But sitting in economics, looking at Cas’ frown? Well, Dean wasn’t too sure he’d enjoy this interaction.

“You’re smiling. Why are you laughing at me?” Cas’ face pinched into a small, seemingly eternal frown as he spoke. “I embarrassed you. Is this why you didn’t show up to lunch?”

Castiel was accustomed to people thinking him childish, but Dean had never hidden his feelings from Castiel. The idea of Dean lying to Castiel hurt more than he cared to admit. The boys had been friends for years, despite their parents’ failed interventions.

His mother called Dean a bad influence. It was hardly surprising. Even when he brought home a friend Castiel disappointed his mother. Not that he minded, his mother was judgmental and frigid by nature.  
  
Despite his mother constantly telling Castiel and his siblings to “think about what they did” she took great offense in receiving that same advice.

If his mother truly wanted him to be more emotional, she would encourage him to spend time with Dean. Dean Winchester wore an overwhelming number of emotions throughout the day, all which if were masked within the same frown. Confusing didn’t even begin to describe Dean.

He was not the same around crowds of people, and Castiel could not understand why his behavior changed with the number of teenagers in a room. He could not explain the rise and fall of Dean’s bright grin or why his green eyes flickered from face to face within the high school’s walls.

Gabriel had told him boys weren’t friends the same way girls were friends.

_He frowned at the unwarranted advice. “What do you mean?”_

_“Well... I just mean that,” Gabriel laughed, his grin spreading upwards and across his fan cheeks. “You know what I mean._

_“I do not. Hence my asking what you meant.”_

_“It’s just that... well, sometimes you can be a bit obsessed with Dean is all,” Gabriel shrugged._

_“No big dea- ow!”_

“ _Sheesh, Gabriel,” Anna chastised. She crossed her arms, rolling her eyes at the blonde. “Wait to rip his heart out, subtle much?”_

_“My heart is intact,” he frowned, “I assure you. Gabriel Novak, I do not know what you mean._

_His brother frowned, forgoing an answer to the question. “What?”_

“No Cas it wasn’t you, I just uh...” Dean raised a hand to the back of his head, his eyes flickering from Castiel to the door.

Perhaps he wanted Castiel to leave.

“I just- Cas where are you going?”

He frowned, “Somewhere else.”

Dean sighed, ignoring Garth’s curios eyes. “Yeah I can see that but why?”

“Your eye movement,” Castiel explained. “I’m supposed to look people in the eyes.”

Dean waved him over, encouraging a confused Castiel to return to his chair. Cas halted abruptly in front of him, his blue eyes locked on the empty cracked chair. Damnit.

At least there would be a change in subject.

“Look, I know it’s not your favorite chair but it’s the only one left.”

“It is not my favorite chair. I do not have a favorite chair in this room, but if I did it certainly would not be the broken chair beneath my line of vision.”

Dean frowned, scratching behind his ear before offering a solution.

“No, I could not take your chair, Dean.” Castiel frowned, his mouth pulling down as his round eyes flickered around the small classroom. “You have to sit there and I am to sit next to you.”

He eyed the cracked chair precariously, noticing the jagged edges of the large crack in the back of the chair. It looked unpleasant, painful. The chair was not whole; somewhere there lay a crippled piece of plastic without a purpose.

“... I could always... sit there,” Cas said weakly.

He could not understand why something as insignificant as piece of plastic was chasing his mind like raging bull, but the sight of the furniture physically upset him.

“I can’t sit there,” he said with a frown. “It will hurt me.”

“Well Cas, you have to sit somewhere and if you don’t take my seat I’m not sure-“

“You can have my seat,” the tall boy offered with a casual smile.

Castiel turned to stare at the skinny teen, his strong gaze causing Garth to falter in his offer. Like he’d said, Castiel Novak was intimidating. The boy raised his eyebrows, shrugging as he clutched his textbooks to his thin frame.

“That will suffice,” Castiel said with a nod.

He felt the tightening of his chest hit the floor like thick rain as the boy stood with a smile. Castiel knew this boy’s face curved face, his pale eyes and thin nose colored the background of this class. If his mother were here, he would be chastised for not recognizing the boy’s nameless face.

The chair squeaked and hissed over the tiled floor as the boy switched he and Castiel’s chairs. Castiel watched him gratefully, his breath easing as the hole in the chair was covered by the teen’s worn flannel.

It seemed irrational now, to be upset by something so easily fixable. Castiel placed his books on the chair, sitting between Dean and the lanky boy. Dean raised his eyebrows at him, his neck tilting at an odd angle.

Cas leaned forward, his fingers a breath from Dean’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Dean chuckled, “‘m fine, Cas.”

“Then why were you...? Oh, I see.” He turned to the other boy, a verbal affirming on his gratitude resting on his tongue.

He paused as Garth smiled at him, remembering his earlier dilemma.

“What is your name?”

 


	7. Hael’s Virginity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God this was NOT something Dean wanted to discuss.

Castiel taped his paper above the paint bubble.

He planned additional labels throughout the house as he took a step backwards. He sat at his desk, headphones pulled over his ears as he worked. He was unsure how much time had passed before the knocking of _Smoke on the Water_ filled his room.

He hummed happily at the recognizable tune. Castiel endured many unanswered questions in his life, but he knew without any doubt that _Smoke on the Water_ meant Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, the picture of ease, who smiled like his face was made to break.

He was not made to break like the time Gabriel’s arm cracked over a frozen pond or the way his book towers fell to the floor. Dean was... different. Dean Winchester broke in a way that was comforting.

Castiel found this extremely confusing as he had been told his entire life it was _bad_ to break.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean Winchester said with a smile.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said without looking up.

Dean grinned, leaning against his friend’s doorframe before he was invited into the bedroom. Dean smiled as he sat on Cas’ bed, careful not to mess the clean covers.

His green eyes flickered over to the paper beneath Castiel’s hand. The silver pencil rested between Cas’ long fingers, small dashes dancing from beneath his grip and onto the page.

Dean eyed the office chair on the other side of the room, marked ‘Dean’s chair.’ He smiled as he stood from Castiel’s bed. He straightened the comforter before walking away. Dean rolled the cheap furniture across the floor, turning it so the back of the chair faced Cas.

His bow legs curled over the spine of the office chair, his chest leaning against the gray material. Castiel ignored Dean’s misuse of the chair, accustomed to the quirk. Dean craned his neck towards the drawing, watching over Cas’ shoulder.

“Whatcha workin’ on?”

“Cha’ is not a word, Dean Winchester. I am constructing a model of my familial life through the texture of this infrastructure.”

Dean nodded, eyes drifting to his friend’s fancy lettering. “That’s a new take on HGTV.”

Castiel raised his head, “I can’t imagine anyone in this house has a sexually transmitted disease. Anna has sex regularly.”

Castiel’s returned to his work as Dean’s eyes widened.

“Uh...” his mouth quirked to the side as he laughed. “And that decreases her chance?”

Castiel’s mouth pulled downwards and his brow furrowed. He tilted his head at Dean as if the answer was obvious.

“Anna is practiced and aware of potential health risks, thus she is more prepared,” he said. “Abstinence only is an inefficient form of sexual education, Dean Winchester. You should know that.”

Dean placed a hand over his chest, frowning “What, that’s not even what I-“

Eh, what was the use? No point in Dean standing around like a virgin on prom night. It’s not like Cas was wrong.

Castiel raised his eyebrows in question. “I apologize. Have I upset you?”

“No man,” Dean said with a chuckle, “Just uh, a little surprised by the topic. But uh...” he scratched his head, grinning at something Castiel could not see.

Castiel frowned, head moving to discover the source of amusement. “You don’t believe me. I assure you Anna is using contraceptives.”

Dean laughed, “Not _HIV_ Cas, HGTV.”

Castiel frowned, looking somewhat offended. “The spelling is quite similar, Dean.”

He smiled, “What about the fact that ones a tv show and the other’s a sexually transmitted disease?”

Cas shrugged, “My mother discusses both subjects regularly. She’s quite concerned for Hael’s virginity.”

Dean gulped, his eyes going wide. He bit his lip as his eyes suddenly noticed how interesting the floorboards were. Jesus he did not expect this.

Oh god they were discussing _Hael’s virginity._

Dean felt his eyelids scrunch shut, but not quickly enough to block out the images. Oh god what was wrong with him?! Was he _trying_ to go to Hell?!

He rubbed his neck while blushing madly at the topic.

He didn’t mean to think that. It wasn’t _Dean_ ’ _s_ fault his body hated him. Gross, sex. Not that Dean didn’t like sex, of course Dean liked sex! The soft skin, a girl’s dark hair between his fingers, her wandering- Dean shook himself.

Yeah, he was more than okay with sex.

His eyes rested on Castiel’s intent expression. Was Cas imagining HGTV or Hael’s- Dean shook his head, _nope_. Dean was _definitely_ not going there. Dean closed his eyes, red as a tomato as he attempted to bleach his brain.

Hael was like a little sister to him.

If Dean’s stupid, horny brain forced him to imagine anybody it would be someone his age, geez. But then, Dean didn’t imagine someone his age. Oh god was he a pervert?

But didn’t perverts _know_ they were perverts? Dean felt like he would know if he was a pervert. He would know if he was a pervert, right? He was just a stupid, sexually active but hormonally repressed- well, actually if Dean lacked anything it wasn’t hormones- teenager!

Castiel continued to draw peacefully, oblivious to Dean’s unnecessary internal conflict. Somehow Cas’ happiness was more calming than anything Dean could imagine. Dean smiled at the sight, nerves soothes as he watched his friend’s hand glide up and down the paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for your patience! Please let me know what you think!
> 
> What do you think of Cas’ siblings so far? Are you feeling the second hand embarrassment from Dean yet? I know am...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Cas didn’t really talk about sex the way Dean did.

In fact, Cas didn’t talk about sex- like ever. Sure the dude talked about bees and the piano and gardens and ice skating, but not sex. Not that Dean minded any of the other discussions, especially when Cas started talking about the ice.

The guy was fascinated by winter. Snow never failed to make Castiel smile. Cas had loved ice since Dean could remember. Dean could easily understand why. And even if he couldn’t, the smile on his friend’s face was a sufficient explanation.

Cas was good at ice skating- like, really good.

Like, the dude had a fresh set of skates and he looked like a swan when he moved kind of good. Off the ice Cas had a certain... well, he was clumsy. When they were in middle school, and Gordon thought he was some kind of genius, he called him ‘Cas the Klutz.’ It was stupid and simple, but it had bothered Cas.

And if something upset Cas it usually upset Dean.

But Cas was able to perform on the ice. Whatever road block he found in soccer or football disappeared. Maybe it was the lack of a ball or maybe it was because skating wasn’t a team sport. Whatever the reason, Cas skated like a professional.

_“It’s called a spiral, Dean,” he called from the rink. “It’s hardly professional.”_

Dean could still remember seeing Cas blush from behind the bleachers.

On the scale of manliness, ice skating was right up there with ballet and eating tubs of ice cream while watching _The Notebook._

But it made Cas so happy Dean never found the energy to say anything. Other than the shouts of encouragement and clapping he offered. Somehow he always found the energy to encourage Cas.

Not that Cas needed encouragement. Mrs. Novak had a photo of Cas in ice skates hanging in the kitchen. Dean would recognize the wide, awkward grin anywhere. Cas must have been four or five since he was leaning on someone’s leg and gripping a chair with one hand.

Anna saw Dean looking one day and explained Cas had been skating for 14 years. The guy was motivated as hell. And when he wasn’t? Dean made sure to motive Cas himself.

_“Dean,” the skater frowned. “While I appreciate your guttural shouting I am trying to practice.”_

Dean’s energy never seemed that important when Cas was happy.

Hell Dean still managed to drive over here after this morning’s serving of chaos. Sam and Dad had been at each other’s throats. Dean had practically pulled the two apart after he made breakfast. He’d felt like a pack leader, a mother ripping apart two wolves taking a game too far.

Sam took everything too far, always upsetting John with his snide remarks and shouts.

But Dean had promised Castiel they’d hang out so he tried to ignore this morning’s argument. The ugly shouts and insults buried beneath Dean’s thick flesh. He ignored the hidden skeletons of blame and betrayal; his own body was like a graveyard.

“I’m sure your little sister will be fine,” Dean said with a tight smile.

Cas raised his head, his blue eyes combing over Dean’s face like a paintbrush. He placed his pencil aside, frowning. Cas stood, placing a light hand on Dean’s cheek.

“Something is the matter.”

Dean blushed, moving his chin from the gentle touch. “ _Nah_ ,” he said with a shrug. “Everything’s good, Cas.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said with a frown.

Dean said nothing, gaze dropping to the floor. He tried to ignore his friend’s concern. Cas’ questioning eyes were burning a hole into his head. But as always, Cas drew him right back in. Dean met Cas’ eyes uncertainly; Castiel didn’t blink.

Their sneakers bumped with their close proximity.

Cas’ unblinking eyes reflected Dean’s pink cheeks. Dean blushed deeper, self conscious as he felt the warmth spread across his skin. He raised a hand to rub his face.

Castiel stopped him with a gentle grip, his thumb tracing a vein below Dean’s hand

His long fingers wrapped around Dean’s freckled wrist, allowing the blush to spread further. Dean’s arm rested in midair, unmoving as Cas held him. He stared at Cas, his mouth dry and his body warm. Cas’ pinky was brushing Dean’s cheekbone, his palm touched Dean’s upper lip.

The only sound was the boys’ quiet breathing. Cas closed his eyes, pausing to admire the sounds which confirmed Dean’s life. His eyes fluttered open, blinking once before returning to Dean.

He lowered their hands while Dean stared at him. The grip slowly loosened; Cas’ dress shirt brushed his wrist. His calloused fingers brushed Dean’s a final time, then Dean was alone again.

Dean’s hand was cool in the absence of his friend’s skin. His mouth quirked past his cheeks. Goosebumps covered Dean’s body. Did the Novak’s want him to freeze? He rubbed at his arm, eyes looking anywhere but at Cas.

Castiel’s stare followed the movement.

“Things do not seem ‘good’,” Cas concluded, adding quotes around the final word.

“Y-yeah,” Dean stuttered, smiling uncertainly. “I uh- I guess the day’s kind of taken me by surprise.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’d really love to hear what you guys think. I’ve always been interested in the possibility of Castiel being on the spectrum and I couldn’t help myself when I started writing this.


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